The Right Words
by KatiWritesStuff
Summary: John thinks too much. Sometimes you just need to snog your flatmate, right.


Labelling his relationship with Sherlock hadn't really been a concern of John's until Sarah brought it up. They'd gone out for drinks after work and, not surprisingly, had eventually landed on the topic of Sherlock.

John chose to believe that the unexpected bluntness of the question was due to all the drinks that had already been consumed.

"So is he your boyfriend then?"

People questioning his relationship with Sherlock was hardly a new experience. However, the question was still enough to make him spit out his mouthful of drink. John was a perfect picture of embarrassment and confusion as he mopped the drink up off the table and stuttered out "S-sorry, _what_?"

Sarah laughed. "Sorry, didn't realise it was such a touchy subject."

John smiled and shook his head slightly. "No…no…" He trailed off them started again more definitively.

"No, Sherlock is not my boyfriend. He's just… just… I don't know. He's Sherlock."

He nodded, giving a look that clearly indicated he thought "Sherlock" was a perfectly descriptive word that cleared everything up.

Sarah rolled her eyes and gave a sort of condescending smile she had probably perfected over all the years of being a medical student while others were not.

"So you're not fucking then?"

"Oh god Sarah, really?"

The amused look on her face did not sit well with John. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone?

"He's not…not like that. I'm not sure what he _is _like, but he doesn't do that. _We _don't do that. So no, we _are not _fucking. Happy?"

The red flush spreading across John's face was hard to blame on the drinks and impossible to ignore.

"So…" She really was not letting it drop.

"So, I don't know. That's the point. I don't know a bloody thing! Nearly a sodding year living with the man and I. Do. Not. Know. He's Sherlock. I don't think anyone knows."

The topic of conversation had quickly changed after that. John's train of thought, however, hadn't had the decency to do so. That night he found that he couldn't sleep, which was especially strange when you considered what drinking that much usually did to him. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man, he shouldn't be fixating on finding the right words to describe what he and Sherlock were to each other. That knowledge didn't stop it happening.

Colleague, friend, those weren't quite enough.

Boyfriend, partner, dear god _no. _

Flatmate was probably the worst.

"This is my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes" just screamed "We're fucking but we don't want anyone to know that we're fucking so just go along with it please."

If the rest of the world knew Sherlock the way John did they'd understand how impossible it was to describe anything to do with the man. But, John decided, he was definitely glad that the rest of the world didn't know Sherlock the way he did.

* * *

John was sitting on the sofa, reading the paper and Sherlock was in the kitchen doing god knows what.

"John."

He immediately set down the paper and went into the kitchen, fully expecting something to be on fire, or worse.

Nothing appeared to be wrong, but it could be anything. Oh dear god, it probably involved acid.

"What've you done Sherlock?" he asked, the exasperation apparent in his voice

"_I _haven't done _anything_. You're the one who's been acting strange."

"I…I've been acting strange. Sorry, but have you met you?"

For a brief moment John saw a look of hurt settle on Sherlock's face, but it was quickly replaced with his standard indifferent expression.

"Look, I'm sorry okay, I didn't mean…"

Sherlock brushed his words aside and turned back to the stove where he seemed to be boiling a foot. John chose not to comment. It wasn't the worst thing that Sherlock had done in their kitchen. Far from it.

"There's something wrong and I want to know what." Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to the boiling pot. "I won't have your moods interfering with my work."

Something about Sherlock having his back turned put John more at ease. Probably the fact that Sherlock's eyes wouldn't be probing him, studying him the entire time he spoke.

"It's nothing…just something Sarah said. But not important."

"Is that all then?" he scoffed, "She broke up with you and now you're in a state."

Though Sherlock couldn't see his face, he was sure his frustration more than came through in his voice.

"No, Sherlock, she didn't break up with me. We weren't together. How do you not know that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have more important things to concern myself with."

"Really Sherlock, couldn't you try to be a bit less of an ass? After all, we are…"

He fell silent, and Sherlock once again turned his attention away from his experiment and looked at John.

"We are, what?"

John stood silent, inwardly scolding himself for not thinking before he spoke.

"John…" Sherlock moved towards John, completely ignoring the concept of personal space, yet again. John had to look away from his questioning gaze, and so took to studying his feet.

"I don't know…" he muttered, "I don't know what we are."

"Does it really matter John?" Sherlock was almost whispering now, there was a strange husky quality to his voice that John had never noticed before.

John tilted his head upwards and their eyes met. He couldn't find the words to answer the question. Instead he stretched up and placed his lips on Sherlock's. It wasn't quite a kiss; he wanted to give Sherlock the chance to break away.

They stood like that, waiting, until Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and John took that as an invitation to continue. He deepened the kiss, easing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, waiting for a sign to stop, a sign that never came. Sherlock responded enthusiastically, and the answer to the question came to John.

"No." he whispered against Sherlock's mouth. It didn't matter.

They were friends, and flatmates and colleagues, and more. But at that moment the words didn't matter. All that mattered was that after wanting it for so long, the doctor's lips were pressed up against the consulting detective's.

* * *

John didn't really want to break the kiss, but he figured that smoke coming from the stove was a matter that deserved their attention.

"Fuck Sherlock."

While John busied himself with taking the pot off the heat and making sure things weren't about to catch fire, Sherlock swept out of the room and began to ready himself for going out.

"Where the hell are you going?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Wherever he was off to, he clearly thought it should be obvious.

"I need another foot. That one's ruined now."

"Sher-"

"And no more of this _kissing_ while I'm working. I told you, I won't have your moods interfering with my work."

"Sherlock!"

John just stood, shaking his head, as Sherlock walked out of the flat.

There really were no words to describe Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
